


Uneasy Pt. 2

by grasping4light (serenamaes)



Series: When I Met U [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers, otayuri - Freeform, yurabek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11925969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenamaes/pseuds/grasping4light
Summary: Now that Otabek was a house guest, would this change anything? Yuri has to decide what it means to have your friend stay over, and if those persistent dreams actually mean anything when they come to light.





	Uneasy Pt. 2

“Are you sure this is alright?” Otabek asked, propping his suitcase in a corner. “I can sleep on the couch.” 

The sheets were dirty. There was no way he could sleep on them like this. “No guest in this house will sleep on the couch.” Yuri grunted, mimicking his grandfather as he pulled the clean sheets over the mattress and fought with the bedding. “You will sleep in here. I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

Otabek stood quietly, watching the poor, stubborn boy struggle. “Thanks.” 

It was safer this way, to get away from him. “Well,” Yuri brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “The bathroom is down the hall,” he avoided Otabek’s eyes, “And if you need any water, there are glasses in the kitchen . . .”

“Yuri,” Otabek began, making his way toward him. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.” He was never like this in Barcelona. Why was he so nervous?

“It has been.” He turned toward his suitcase, unbuttoning his jacket. “We should both go to sleep.” 

It felt as though every blood vessel in his body were bursting. He was still fully clothed, but even through the clothing, Yuri could see the definition in Otabek’s shoulder blades. “Y-yeah . . . I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” He gathered an extra blanket and pillow, and made his way toward the door, but Otabek moved in front of the doorway. “Um – excuse me . . . “ 

“Stay in here.” A soft command, gentle from the mouth of this strange friend, and Yuri’s heart fluttered. 

Another weird thing to say, and it got beneath his skin. “I-I should really sleep in the next room.” The boy croaked, trying to squeeze past Otabek. The man easily stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yuri.” 

It was like the dream, only this was real. Yuri lowered the blankets and pillows, and found himself helpless against that steady gaze. Those earth-toned eyes, staring into his own, seeing right through that outer shell. 

“Something is bothering you.” 

He knew. “N-no . . . Nothing.” Had he talked to him in his sleep? Had he messaged him without knowing? He had been careful not to like any photos or posts . . . 

“You can tell me.” His voice was firm. “I am your friend, aren’t I?”

Those eyes were staring into his own, and it was hard to look away. It was so difficult. So near and so far all at once, and it was getting harder to breathe. He felt nauseous, and briefly wished for a bout of the stomach flu. Anything would be better than this. Anything. “I was just . . .”

“Surprised to see me?” 

He nodded, unsure of why he was so quiet, and why this man knew so much about him in this instant. “Yeah. I hadn’t heard from you until now.” Actually, Otabek always seemed to know what to say.

“I should have told you sooner that I would be passing through.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He really was glad to see him, though he would never say it. The boy looked toward the wall. “I’m going to go to bed.” He carefully slid out from Otabek’s grasp, and opened the door. “Sleep well.” The door shut quietly behind him, and he made his way toward the small living room. His grandfather was there, asleep on the couch with his favorite crime drama muttering quietly on the screen. 

“Figures.” Yuri scoffed, though he smiled and placed a blanket on the older man. His stomach felt heavy. He really did not want to sleep on the floor, and he knew his grandfather would move to his room in the middle of the night, just to kick him out of the bed if he were to sleep there. He had always been that way. Though everything in his body told him to stay on the couch, he made his way back toward his bedroom and knocked quietly. 

“Yes?” 

“May I come in?” he had never heard his voice like this, unsteady and wanting. He turned the doorknob slowly. 

“I don’t see why not. It is your room, after all.” Otabek stood in sweats and a tight tank top next to the bed. "So you came back.”

He closed the door behind him, and looked toward the floor. “My grandfather is asleep on the couch. You stay on the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” He began to kneel when Otabek objected.

“There is room for both of us in the bed.”

And when he looked up, he found that he could not argue with that logic. He stood and climbed into the bed, scooting close to the wall, and Otabek followed shortly after. There was no way he could leave now. He was wedged comfortably between this mysterious friend and the wall.

. . .

It had been hours, and though his eyes felt heavy, Yuri could not bring himself to sleep. Otabek was quiet, sleeping soundly next to him, but his own thoughts were racing. He worried that if he closed his eyes, the dreams would come back, and it was too embarrassing to think about what might happen after he woke. He could hear his grandfather snoring away in the other room, and he prayed that a dreamless sleep would hit him next. 

“You should sleep,” a soft, deep voice came from beside him. Hesitant, Yuri looked to the left, and Otabek cracked open an eye. “You’ve been lying there for hours, staring at the ceiling.” 

He never changed. He was always this way. Calm, straight forward, and grounded. The color rose to his cheeks again. “I can’t sleep.” How long had he been awake? 

Otabek stared back into his eyes, and for a moment they said nothing. The quiet rush of midnight traffic traveled down the street outside, and Yuri thought he heard the pitter patter of rain falling to the concrete.

Those brown-green eyes closed, and Otabek lifted one of his arms from beneath the blanket. “You never look this way on the ice.” And then, with no warning, Yuri was pulled closer, against his conscious will, against that warm body beside him. “You are always so controlled there.” 

His breath caught in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He was right. This was not like him at all. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly, looking toward the window. “You know this is illegal, right?” 

Though he was not looking, he thought he could hear Otabek smile. “Go to sleep.” 

And to his surprise, as if the words were a spell, he found himself drifting to sleep, counting the shadows of rain drops reflecting on his wall. 

. . .

It was hot in his room, and the sun was starting to sneak its light into the darkness. Yuri opened his eyes, and found himself clutching onto Otabek’s shirt, wrapped comfortably in a one-armed embrace. He glanced toward the door and realized he could not hear his grandfather snoring any longer. The old man had either moved to his own bedroom or made his way outside on a morning walk. But he was trapped here, embraced by a man he called a friend, but in all honesty barely knew, and there was no way of moving without waking him. 

“Otabek,” he spoke quietly, hoping that his grandfather had left the house rather than walk in on them like this. “Otabek!” No response. He lie there as stoic as ever. The sound of his deep breathing filled the room. 

Yuri flopped his head back against that strong chest. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Was it the sound of his own heartbeat? Ba-dum. Or was it Otabek’s? Determined and slow. Bad-um. As if it were calling the tides back home. He closed his eyes, not wanting to move. It was the best dream he had had in ages, and he hoped it would not end soon. Not here. 

But the more he focused on that heartbeat, the more he remembered the sound of his own when he would wake from those dreams. Each night it was pounding, the force of his blood coursing thickly through his body, and then – the pang was there now, between his legs, and he flushed with color. In the tight vicinity of his bedsheets, there was no way to hide his arousal. Quickly, he tried to roll to the other side and break free from that comfortable place against the Kazakh’s chest, but as he turned, he realized – Otabek was hard, too. 

He tried to ignore it and remember his basic courses in anatomy from school – this was a normal physiological response! But it was too late. Already, he had thought about it too much. He shuddered and arched his back off the mattress, tugging at the sheets to hide his face as he came to face the wall. He would just pretend that none of this ever happened. This was a bad dream, and that this stupid shit was all the Piggy’s fault. 

But he was being pulled back again, gently this time, until his backside was pressed against that hard body once more. “Yuri.” Otabek’s lips brushed against his ear.

Goosebumps traveled his skin. The heat between them was scalding. He swallowed thickly, but could not find the strength to speak. It was a dream. It had to be, and he closed his eyes in an effort to wake when they opened again. 

But the man urged him to turn back, to face him, and when he opened his eyes, he found that Otabek was looking into his own. He was helpless, caught again in the face of that silence. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, frenzied and quick in the moment, as he looked into those dark eyes. A small fire burned at their center, and Yuri finally managed. “Otabek.” His lips parted, unsure of whether or not there was anything else to say.

It might have been a dream. It might have been the morning high. It could have been the tea from the night before, but soon Otabek’s hand was on his jawline, and his thumb stroked over that ivory cheek. The older man inched closer, gentle but swift, and captured those darling lips in his own.

Yuri’s surprised gasp was captured in the kiss, and he closed his eyes. Everything, every piece of his body ached for this touch, but his head told him no good could come of it. He was getting carried away and lost in this – whatever it was. But that was all forgotten as his own hand stroked up Otabek’s chest, and his fingers found their way up to his strong neck. Their lips brushed against each other for a quick breath of fresh air, and then pulled away just slightly. 

The red in the boy’s cheeks only brought out the green in his eyes, and Yuri studied Otabek’s face carefully. It was a softer expression than the one he normally wore, and the calm that was usually there was replaced by something heavier and more volatile. The organ between Yuri’s legs throbbed again, and the boy ran his hand over the man’s cheek. 

It was his first kiss. Though it had never been something he had thought about before, he recently began to think that he would never know what a kiss felt like outside of a dream¬. He told himself this was just a side-effect of them, but there was no way he c¬ould ask Otabek about them, even with what happened just now. He was probably dreaming. He had to be. It was nothing more than his imagination. 

But it happened again, only this time, it was him moving closer, pressing their mouths together again. He was helpless to this addictive feeling, and he wanted to taste those lips once more. Otabek’s kiss was so tender in comparison to his usually stern expression, and it tasted even sweeter than he had imagined. He pushed himself further against that warm heat, and realized that Otabek was holding him there, next to his body, as he had in his dream. Even in this moment, he was so straightforward. And his grip was strong.

Now it was too real. Yuri broke the kiss to catch his breath, the flush spreading on his cheeks. “Otabek – I,” this was usually the point when he would wake up. Slightly dizzy from the pressure building between his legs. He was never like this, never incapable of controlling his body. 

Their eyes met, and Otabek spoke quietly. “Yuri . . .” their hips were touching, and the friction was enticing. 

Yuri was breathing heavy now as Otabek’s hand slid down his ribcage to his waist. It was incredibly hot beneath the blankets and his clothes, and he really wanted relief. 

As if Otabek knew what was on his mind, he closed the distance again, this time carefully rolling Yuri onto his back while sliding between the narrow space between his legs. Automatically the boy adjusted, surprised at the way his body moved to accommodate his first partner. He moaned quietly as the Kazakh slid his tongue into his mouth, and trembled as his hand slid lower. It was on his hip now, and their bodies instinctively rocked against one another with the weight and direction of their kiss. Slow and heavy.

Over the next few minutes, the speed increased, and Yuri ran his hands into Otabek’s hair. His partner moved his way to the Russian’s neck, sucking lightly at the pale skin that was normally hidden behind a curtain of golden hair. The heat building between their hips felt incredible, and as the Kazakh sucked on his neck, Yuri realized that this was no dream. 

It was too much for the young boy. He could not fight the pressure any longer, and he felt overcome. “Otabek!” Yuri shuddered and bucked upward as he came. “Ahn!” He dug his nails into Otabek’s shoulder blades, and Otabek groaned at the sudden motion. He buried his lips against Yuri’s neck, grinding against the boy as he came as well.

“Yuri . . .”

The room was humid, and both of the boys glistened with a shimmer of sweat in the morning light. Yuri looked up into the eyes of his newfound lover, and Otabek studied the way the color had spread across the boy’s pale body, tinting his fingertips and the sliver of skin showing at his waist.

“Otabek . . .” Yuri panted quietly, unsure of what to say or do from this point forward. He had let himself be vulnerable to this man, and it was hard facing the reality that this was not a dream. He swallowed thickly and rested the back of his hand on his forehead.

The Kazakh carefully moved off of his younger counterpart and attempted to catch his breath. They would both need at least a fresh set of clothes before they could leave the room, but he did not want to leave just yet. He just lie there, next to the frail boy, and closed his eyes. 

After a few moments of deep breathing, Yuri heard the front door open and close. His grandfather called from the front doorway. “You boys awake? I got us breakfast!”

The boy sat up and groaned. How could he explain this to his grandfather? “We’ll be right out!” 

Otabek looked up at the younger boy and said quietly, “You may want to lie back down.” 

And with that, Yuri flopped back onto the bed, dizzy from the sudden movement. “Nnh.”

. . .

Much to his surprise, his grandfather did not even ask where he slept that night. He did not even question the morning shower. For either of them. Breakfast was spent in relatively light conversation, much of which was addressed to Otabek, who kept his answers polite and to the point. Yuri finally felt like he could relax a little. So far, his grandfather really seemed to like him, which was a comforting thought all in itself. 

Yuri took the dishes from his friend as they stood at the sink, cleaning up after the meal. His grandfather was going on another one of his walks, which meant that the two of them would be alone for a little while. Now that there was no one else to take control of the situation, he felt uneasy and nervous all over again as the kiss replayed in his head.

“Your grandfather seems like a good man,” Otabek spoke softly, handing Yuri another plate. “I can tell how much he cares about you.” 

“He’s very special to me,” the boy admitted, feeling some of the pressure fade. It was easy to talk about his grandfather. But the relief was short-lived. The weight was replaced by a heavier guilt. He was hiding something from the man that had cared for him for all of these years, and he had never done that before. At the same time, he did not even know if there was anything to hide. There was no explaining the kiss, or what it meant. For all he knew, they both could have been experiencing the same dream. He may still even be asleep . . . 

“Yuri,” that voice came from beside him again, offering the last plate before he shut off the water. “About what happened earlier . . .” 

He took the plate, but his heart was pounding. The dream was about to end. In all of the lame rom-com movies, this was where the couple broke up. “About what happened earlier?” Were they even a couple? His hand was shaking, and he turned his attention back to the wet plate, taking care to wipe away the water before it slipped or cracked beneath the pressure of his fingertips. 

“It wasn’t random.” 

Yuri set the plate down and took a deep breath. He was glad that Otabek could not see his face; he was pretty sure the only time he felt this way was right before he fell to the ice in Barcelona. He looked up at the ceiling and willed himself to stay standing. When he felt more composed, Yuri turned to face his partner straight on. 

“I wanted to kiss you.” That statuesque expression remained. “I wanted you to know that, before I went back.” 

That was right, he was leaving. The boy’s lips tightened into a firm line on his face, and he finally felt like his usual self. “So you came here to kiss me and leave?”

The man was unfazed. It was almost as if he had expected this reaction. 

Yuri set down the towel, and made his way toward his room, unsure of where he was walking or why. He should have known better. He should have gone with his gut. This was why he could not trust anyone, and he had made that mistake of trusting someone again. And this time, a friend. He felt like a fool, and he was angry. He grabbed his phone and his hoodie, and shoved past Otabek to make his way toward the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving first!” he glared over his shoulder. “Have a safe trip home!” But he never made it. Otabek managed to reach him before the door opened and pressed him hard against the wall. He really was much stronger than Yuri anticipated; his wrists ached where the older man held them. 

“I’m not leaving yet.” 

“Then why tell me you’re leaving, you asshole!” he hated the way his voice sounded. He was so angry, he actually sounded weak. 

“You took my words too literally.” Otabek loosened his grip, but still held on to the boy’s slim wrists. “My flight isn’t for another week.”

The anger returned, boiling beneath his skin, and this time it was because he had been such an obvious fool. He fought to pull away, but that grip returned and held him until the nerves had settled. 

“I want to stay with you, Yuri.” He paused. “There is something about you that unsettles me. I want to know why.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? “You’re not making me feel better, you know.” The boy managed to slide out of Otabek’s grip and reached for the doorknob once again. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I don’t want to be your fucking bitch.” 

And for the first time, Yuri thought he understood what Otabek said in Barcelona – he saw the eyes of a soldier in the face of the man before him. His own eyes widened, and a muscle in Otabek’s jaw tightened. 

To anyone watching, it was easy to see that they were struggling to say what they were feeling. The language of a dancer and a warrior getting mixed in the space lying in-between. Yuri could not bring himself to open the door and leave, and Otabek’s silence was a rare expression of his inability to find the words, rather than hold them in. 

The birds sang outside, and Yuri’s arm relaxed, and his fingers loosened around the doorknob. He wanted to apologize, to say that he was sorry, but the Kazakh spoke first. “If that was the impression I gave you, I must have acted poorly.” He closed the distance between them, and the hoodie began to slide out of Yuri’s grip. “I have wanted you for a long time, Yuri. I’ve wanted you to be close to me.” Even closer. “Even before Barcelona.”

His heart was beating hard in his chest again, and he thought his body was actually lifting and falling with the rhythm as he was pressed against the door. “Otabek,” he flushed as the name came naturally from his lips. “I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” the man smiled softly. “That fire contrasts with your beauty.” 

His pulse was racing. 

“I like it.” 

He felt like a woman, closing his eyes in anticipation as their lips met for the second time that day. He dropped his hoodie and slowly wrapped his arms around Otabek’s neck, and the man replied by placing his hands on those slender hips and pulling them against his own. 

Yuri could feel himself getting carried away again as a thumb graced its way beneath the hem of his shirt. “Otabek,” he panted attempting to straighten up. “We can’t keep doing this here . . . “

“You’d rather do it in the streets of Moscow?” 

“Do it?” His face lit up crimson. “I don’t – I mean,” and he heard Otabek laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” his face softened when he smiled. “I won’t take your virginity so suddenly. I’m not that cruel.” 

Was he joking? Yuri felt faint. How did he know? Was there a sign on his forehead? “I just meant-”

“Don’t explain yourself.” Otabek straightened up, and brushed a strand of gold away from that perfect face. “You don’t need to tell me anything.” He placed a soft kiss on Yuri’s forehead and whispered, “Let me find out in time.”

And though he had suggested they stop, Yuri reached up with both hands and pulled that strong face to his own. This was different than anything he had ever felt before, save his love of the ice. But this pull was different, and it made him forget his head completely. He was never in control here. He was hungry. All he could feel were those warm hands on his ribcage, and that hot mouth on his own. It was all he wanted this moment. He groaned at the friction at his waist, and tugged on his lover’s hair. 

In return, Otabek slid his hands back down that lithe body, and proceeded to lift his partner from the floor. Yuri clutched on to the man and wrapped his legs around his body instinctively, struggling to catch his breath as he was moved from the front room to his own. The room was spinning as he was dispensed onto the bed, and the Kazakh crawled over him, equally exasperated. As he looked into those brown-green eyes, he wondered, what this was, what they were, and if it even mattered.

He did not have much time to dwell on his thoughts for very long. Otabek grazed his hand over the strained bump in Yuri’s jeans on its way upward, and the boy shivered in the direction of the touch. “Shit . . .” he was so sensitive. That hand continued to travel, upwards this time, returning to its newly adopted spot beneath his shirt, where those long fingers caressed his waist. Otabek leaned in, brushing his lips over curve of Yuri’s neck. “Yuri . . .” 

Yuri’s eyebrows furrowed, and a small growl echoed in his throat. “What are you doing?” Was this a game? Otabek was fucking with him. He wanted more hands, more tongue, something. Anything but slowing down. 

The older man rolled his hips, giving the boy exactly what he did not know he even wanted, and Yuri shuddered visibly, arching his back as those taunting hips returned to their resting position, barely against his own. “Otabek.” 

And that was enough to unsettle the man before him. It had been fun at first to tease the boy, but now even he was starting to realize he could not control himself in this situation. He sat up and pulled off his shirt, a flush spreading across his cheeks. The slightest hint of sweat stuck to his brow. It was hard to resist the reactive body beneath him, even though it was much too soon. Those eyes were pulling him in with that intense green.

Yuri sat up. It was his chance to set the pace, and move things forward. He ran his hands over the muscle he had seen in his dreams, and his lips parted as his fingertips finally traced over that hot, smooth skin. Otabek watched carefully as the boy sat up on his knees, monitoring those sharp eyes as they studied him. And though it was too soon, the Russian could not contain his curiosity. He looked up at Otabek, and slowly, slid his hand beneath the elastic of his pants. The man shuddered and closed his eyes, and the color darkened in the boy’s cheeks. 

He should have woken up by now. Anyone would have at this point, but he did not. Otabek pulled their mouths together again and Yuri moaned as the Kazakh returned the favor, and those fingers wrapped around him. It was messy and difficult to maintain balance, and soon their pants had slid down their thighs. They were bare at the hips and pressed against one another. 

Yuri could hardly breathe, and his body began to shake. Otabek slid his other hand to his waist, then lower. Yuri looked up at his lover, and it was obvious they were both nearing their end. He had never seen the man look so present, and flushed in the heat of the moment, even during his best performance on the ice. The older man squeezed and Yuri cried out. He clutched on to his lover as he came, and his cheeks flushed as a soft spatter of warmth hit his skin in an opposing rhythm to his own. 

He could not even tell if his grandfather was home, and he did not care as the Kazakh laid him down, moving lower until his face was even with the source of his desire. He turned away as that tongue traced over the wet areas of his skin and bit his knuckles as the man took him in his mouth. He had never gone twice before, even after the most intense of his dreams, and he panted at each sucking upward motion. “Otabek,” he whimpered quietly.

This time he heard the door, but it was too late. He was coming again, and he tugged hard on his lover’s hair, gritting his teeth as he released. The bed creaked as his body finally relaxed. 

Otabek swallowed thickly, and sat up, brushing the hair out of his eyes to observe the euphoric beauty before him. 

Yuri smiled softly and closed his eyes to catch his breath. He was exhausted.


End file.
